Adrenaline Fix
by PADavis
Summary: Fan Fiction Auction Story for Winner Heather03nmg. Sam and Dean in a forest, in a cave, and in serious trouble. Quite a lot of Hurt and Sick Dean. Complete in 4 Chapters. Rated T for Language.
1. It wasn’t supposed to be a rat

A/N: This story belongs to Heather03nmg, winner of my story on K Hanna Korossy's Fan Fiction Auction July 2008. The auction was a phenomenal success, raising over 1,600 dollars. I've included her prompt at the end of the story. Heather – I've written you some Winchesters. I hope this meets your expectations.

A/N 2: Thanks as always to my betas Merisha and Scotia.

* * *

He rubbed his eyes and sniffed. "You didn't tell me it was a giant fucking rat, Sammy."

Sam scratched his head. "An Ao Ao is supposed to be more like a sheep or a big peccary."

"A pecker what? A pig? Dude, it has a long naked tail. And look at the teeth. It's a rat."

"Maybe the translation was wrong. I'm sure it's still South American. Maybe the word was capybara? Try to think of it as a really big guinea pig. With a long tail." He turned beseeching eyes on his brother. "It wasn't supposed to be a rat. I would have told you."

He hated when Sam went all dewy-eyed and innocent looking. "You wouldn't have told me 'cause you knew I wouldn't've ever come in here … well I probably would have, but still." He looked around and sneezed. "This nest is just disgusting, and it's in a cave, and …" he broke off to sneeze again. "It's a rat and you know I hate rats." He scrubbed his face and eyes and huffed out an exasperated noise. Damn genus rattus.

"Quit scratching your arms. And it's not a cave."

"What?" He looked down. He _was_ scratching his arms. "Oh." He tried to stop. "Yeah, that's right, it's not a cave. It's an 'underground lair'. Still a cave no matter how many syllables you throw at it." Damn genus little brother smartass know-it-allus.

"Did you take the benedryl like I told you?" Now Sam looked all bitch-faced instead of dewy-eyed. He hadn't decided yet which was better.

"I can't be allergic to every furry thing we hunt."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"What – I can't! I'm not. And they make me feel funny." Damn, he sounded like a five year old. Go manly. He rubbed his nose along the length of his sleeve, making Sam wince. "I can handle a little fur, Sam." The effect was ruined by a sneeze. He absently wiped a gob of phlegm from his palm onto the side of the 'cave'. Served the underground lair right. He didn't suppose they had a genus. He realized he was leaving red furrows down his arms, and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Quit scratching. Take a pill." Sam said, walking around the corpse, pensively studying it.

He faced the inevitable and dug in his duffel and popped two pills. "You'll have to carry me out of here." He blew his nose into his fingers and found a fresh stretch of wall and rubbed it off. He looked up to see Sam staring at him, slack jawed. "It has to go somewhere and I'm not leaving it in my head. I'll drown." He walked over to Sam and looked at the Ao Ao. "What next? Do we deconstruct it, then burn it, then do the ritual? Or", he sneezed, "do we ritualize, burn…" he sneezed again.

Sam looked at Dean critically. "I'll take care of the body. You go outside." He started to unpack his duffel.

"And do…?" he raised an eyebrow at his brother. "The car is miles from here, so what? I go out there and just sit? I can help set up all the ingredients because that", he said, pointing to a pile of envelopes and clear plastic bags, "is a serious amount of secret herbs and spices."

"I've got it under control. You need to go somewhere and breathe. If the union produced progeny, they'll return to the nest as soon as I start the ritual. And I can't finish until they're all here. And the creature's, um, mate, will also be drawn here and will need to be handled." He put his hands on Dean's shoulders and turned him to face the exit. "You can do that away from all this dander and monster pollen, or whatever it is that's setting you off."

He shook off his brother's hands. "Union? Progeny? You mean the babies and then the sick freak that was willing to screw a giant rodent to produce them will show up. And I should let the little Ao Aos by so the ritual will kill them, but stop the shit for brains, right, Mr. Polysyllabic McSmartass?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Just keep the guy outside of the…" he looked a little sheepish, "cave. The ritual will take care of him too but I need time to complete it."

Dean nodded. "Got it." He sneezed and started to walk down the passage to the outside. "Glad to get out this stench."

"Don't forget the guy is dangerous, Dean. This is the worst kind of black magic ..."

He left Sam's admonishments behind him and almost ran out of the cave and into the clean air of the forest. He looked at his watch. The pills would take about fifteen or twenty minutes to really kick in, enough time to deal with demonic rat babies and some seriously fucked up, he sniggered a little at the thought, magician. What could you be thinking to _do_ a rat?

He dropped his duffel and squatted next to it. He tried to drink some water but he almost sucked it into his lungs in a pre-sneeze heave of air. He removed the clip of Ao Ao killing rounds from his Colt, double checked the chamber, sneezed over his shoulder, then slipped in and racked a clip of blessed wrought iron slugs dipped in holy water. He could shoot the freaky wizard in the leg or something if he had to.

He held up the Ao Ao clip and eyed the remaining bullet before tucking it away. How Sam thought up this stuff still amazed him. Well, he'd helped with the bullets of course - burnt thunderbird feathers and ground caiman teeth wrapped in alluvial placer gold was just freaking awesome. But Sam was the one who found the ritual. The list of ingredients was starting to make him hungry too - the coffee, chocolate, cinnamon, and sugar at least. The quinoa and the stuff Sam got in from Joshua, he wasn't so sure of. This was _really_ _old _New World shit – that made him laugh. Maybe the pills were starting to cut in.

He rubbed his hands over his face and scrubbed his hair. He stood, hawked up some phlegm and spat it into the underbrush. He checked the position of the sun against his watch – a good three hours before sundown. Plenty of time to get back to the car.

He froze, standing perfectly still, listening. Something was coming – he couldn't place the exact direction, but it was moving in quickly and getting louder. It had to be the guinea pig lothario, the rat romancer… that definitely was the pills. He took a few steps back into the shadows at the mouth of the cave, and held his gun up by his shoulder, cupping his right hand in his left. Senses on high alert, he scanned the area for movement.

He was so intent on the trees and undergrowth, the touch on his leg made him jump, letting out a huff of startled air. He looked down and almost screamed.

Baby Ao Aos looked exactly like rats. And they were _everywhere_.

There was one on his boot and one was climbing his jeans. He reflexively kicked his leg out and sent both flying. He would have shot the suckers, but they disappeared into the general melee of scrabbling, squeaking, and biting rats. There were so many it looked like the cave had a fur carpet – a moving, grotesque rat carpet, undulating in furry waves toward the back of the cave. How could there be this many? He squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe if he stood still, didn't move, didn't breathe, ignored the occasional nip and scratch – they would just continue by, like the tide coming in.

It worked for a few minutes. Then he sneezed explosively and it was like he'd rung the dinner bell. He crushed the one that latched onto his knuckles against the cave wall and flung it, its body leaking blood as it arced over its man-eating siblings. He pulled and swatted them off his pants, and almost stabbed his own leg when they started trying to climb up under his jeans. He tried to ignore the panicked squeak coming from his own traitorous throat.

He hop scotched across the cave, killing at least one of them every time his feet touched down. He jumped onto a jumble of rocks, scrambling up until he was able to claw his way into a depression he saw in the wall about six feet off the ground. He gratefully smashed the Ao Ao biting his shoulder against the rock behind him. He skewered and crushed the ones already on him and kicked back new ones that tried to leap to his perch. He could hear himself yelling.

Then they were gone, chittering and scratching their way down the passage to death á la Sam. He was hyperventilating, sneezing, coughing, his eyes were watering, and his hands were shaking. And he had blood all over him – he wasn't sure what was his and what was theirs. Shit. He hadn't felt this bad since … well, the skunk apes maybe. And wasn't that humiliating. Skunk apes were seven foot mothers with big fangs and claws – anyone would feel bad after going up against one of them. These were little baby monsters. That looked like rats.

And speaking of skunk apes, where the hell was his brother? He should have come out by now. Couldn't Sam make the ritual go faster? Because boy oh boy, did he really need that boy to show up about now and drag him the hell out of this cave and back to the car. He needed Sam. Or Jill. Florida, Jill, rescue chopper – nope, nope, nope, didn't need Jill that badly.

He heard a noise over the sound of his own breathing and the blood pounding in his ears. Something was coming and he had to do … he had to protect Sam. Always did. He cracked his eyes open and pushed himself up. It wasn't until he was on the ground, at least all of him that didn't land on the rocks was on the ground, that he remembered climbing. That was going to hurt a lot more later.

He got upright slowly, groaning, and lurched toward the cave entrance. His mind finally clicked. Gun – where's the gun? He held up both hands, found his Colt right where it should be, clutched in his bleeding right hand. He put his shoulders back, sneezed for good measure, and stepped boldy into the clearing and right into a short guy running flat out toward the cave. The guy kind of bounced off him, staggering backwards a few feet until he fell, and his momentum caromed Dean like a cue ball back into the rocks by the cave entrance and almost onto his ass.

He pushed off and walked toward Shorty, bringing his gun to bear. He rubbed his free hand against his watering eyes. So rat fucking sorcerers looked like … preppies? Khakis, girl shirt, comb over, he glanced down, and Birkenstocks. If he didn't already know where he was, he'd have picked California on this guy alone. Since this was northern Cali, and they were in a National Park, he'd thought the guy might turn out to be some old time hippie gone from growing weed to black magic. This little guy didn't look like much.

"Hold it…" he wheezed. He tried again, saying "Whoa" as he brought his arm up and aimed the gun right between rat boy's eyes. It looked like the guy was talking – his lips were definitely moving. "And no talking, you little perv", but it was too late. Hell, he really hated this magic shit.

He felt it first in his right hand. Then he smelled it. His gun was glowing and he suddenly was holding not a gun but an incendiary hunk of metal. He shouted and jumped, shaking his hand until the gun dropped to the ground, smoking, and trailing charred skin. He pulled his hand to his chest, unconsciously cradling it with his left as his vision went white.

"You piece of shit!" He wheezed out, sucking air through his mouth. "God damn it. If you've hurt my gun, I'll kill you!" Then he felt it in his legs. He couldn't move his legs – they felt like they'd grown into the ground. "Oh, smooth move." He got his eyes open and glared at the little prick. "You still aren't getting in that cave."

"Who's going to stop me? You?" Sorcerer boy got on his feet and walked over to Dean, running his eyes slowly up and down the length of Dean's body. "You, beautiful boy, are out of this confrontation." He looked away from Dean toward the cave entrance and narrowed his eyes. "Business before pleasure, I always say. And right now, my business is with your confederate inside." He ran a hand up Dean's arm to his shoulder. "After that, it's going to be all pleasure."

It was like being felt up by Snidely Whiplash. Dean felt an involuntary shiver rolling over him and tried to twist away as the guy smiled and licked his lips.

"Dude, that's just gross! You think I like guys? Guys who screw rats no less?"

"Now, now. I didn't say it would be pleasure for you, did I?" The sorcerer side-stepped around him and headed for the cave.

"Oh no you don't, pecker head." He lunged out, reaching with his left arm, and managed to snag the guy's waist, dragging him back. At least, trying to drag him back – the little shit was walking like he didn't have a care in the world, or a one hundred and eighty six pound guy holding on to him. And hold on he did. He held on as he was pulled over backwards, his left handed grip scrabbling down the guy's leg as he continued to move forward.

It was only seconds before Dean was stretched as tight as a wire, and just when he thought he'd be ripped in two if the prick didn't stop, his feet came free. His boots were left behind right where he'd been standing and he was being dragged along in his socked feet.

He heaved himself toward the guy, grunting with the strain, and caused his ride to lose a step. That gave him the chance to pull himself up and forward and wrap both arms securely around the leg he'd been holding.

The sorcerer stopped and reached down to ruffle Dean's hair. "Did you miss me already?" He pressed his hand against Dean's cheek. "And I _love_ the way you are holding me."

Dean growled and jerked his head away from the hand but spared his breath and concentrated on keeping his grip with a bum right hand. A moment later, he was being dragged again. What the bleeding hell was keeping Sam? He said the ritual would take care of the guy.

And now Dean couldn't breathe, couldn't see for shit, and being dragged was tossing fur and droppings from the Ao Ao swarm into the air.

"Sam! You got one minute!"

He saw the rocks he'd gotten personal with earlier going by and swung his legs, jamming his socked feet down between them, pushing them as tightly as he could before cocking his toes. This time, as he was stretched back into the too tight wire impression he was face down, and what little air he was bringing in was so laden with Ao Ao crap and fur, he started to sneeze, over and over, stretching his arms until he grunted with the strain. Black spots were appearing around the edges of his vision. He arched his back, bringing his head away from the cave floor, sucked in as much air as he could and screamed for everything he was worth.

"SAM!"

And then his mouth and nose and throat and lungs just stopped working. The black spots became one large spot that filled his vision and he slipped into it.


	2. Did the magic whatsit on me

"Opotipapotaitemako hikuái ha araka'eve ju jevy! Opotipapotaitemako hikuái ha araka'eve ju jevy!"

Sam closed his notes with a snap, and watched in fascinated revulsion as the body of the Ao Ao liquefied, collapsing into itself with a wheeze of putrid air. He thought he'd heard Dean a couple of times and was pretty sure he called a few seconds ago. He turned his head toward the exit and shouted,

"Done! I'll be there in a minute."

At least the freaky little babies had turned into nothing more than foul smelling greasy rat smoke a few minutes into the ritual or he'd have been suffocated under a mound of them. Or had all the flesh stripped off his bones. Like a hundred little land piranhas. How could there possibly have been that many?

The freak who'd started this whole thing should be finished as well – Sam wasn't positive what the ritual would do to him, but it wasn't going to be good. God, he hoped the guy didn't turn into liquid like the Ao Ao because Dean was really going to be pissed if that stuff got on the weapons.

He pulled his equipment away from the flow of putrescent liquid, tucking the stone knife into its sheath, and remembered to pull out his flashlight before he blew out the candles. He'd planned to dump the left over ingredients immediately but feeling a tinge of anxiety about Dean, he just scooped up all the bags and envelopes with the candles and bowls and shoved everything into the duffel. He'd get rid of everything as soon as he checked on Dean.

He shouted again. "Hey, Dean! It's over, I'll be right there." He poured kerosene over the nest and kicked over the patterns he'd drawn, before slinging his duffel over his shoulder. He threw a match, making sure there was a good fire, before walking down the passage, playing the flashlight beam in front of him.

"Sorry, Dean, it was hard to hear you in there. Wherever rat daddy is, he's done for. Man, you should have …" His flashlight illuminated something on the floor. He played the flashlight further back, and his heart about stopped. God, Dean. He ran the few yards between them and dropped to his brother's side, feeling for a pulse. He had a moment of panic when he found nothing. He moved his hand slightly and pushed harder, and breathed out when he found it.

"Dean! Dean, are you OK? Damn it, why didn't you tell me you needed help?" He grabbed Dean's shoulder and tried to roll his brother over and toward him, but his legs were tangled up in something. He was totally out, his head rolling back toward the ground when Sam got him up on one side. He ghosted his hands over Dean's head – no bumps or blood – and noted his right arm tucked up tight against his chest. Sam stood and pulled and jiggled Dean's feet out from between the rocks. OK, random, where were his boots?

"Let's get you out of here". He pulled his brother up and over his shoulders and felt something slap his side. He glanced down – there was some kind of cloth in his brother's hand. Sam made his best speed out of the cave and into the fresh air of the clearing just outside. He laid Dean down again as gently as he could, then tugged a little at the cloth. It looked like a pair of pants? Sam picked up the fabric between his thumb and finger and inspected it. Pleated front khakis – dripping goo? Jesus – the sorcerer. He must have turned into liquid too.

He checked Dean over carefully, noting hives and blood on his hands and arms. His face was gray and he definitely had a blue tinge to his lips. Sam leaned forward to listen to his brother breathe. He wasn't. Airway. Allergies. Oh crap, how did it get this bad? His brother could not be going into anaphylactic shock in the middle of friggin' nowhere. He dug in his duffel for the first aid kit, hands shaking lightly.

First, administer epi-pen. He shook the hypodermic free of the tube, pulled off the safety cap, and slammed it into Dean's thigh. He counted too fast, the numbers coming out all in a rush - _onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten_ - so he counted again and then once more, before pulling back the pen. Check. He rubbed his knuckles over the injection site, counting breathlessly to ten, then to ten again, willing it to work.

Second, remove constrictions. He lifted Dean up, and ripped open his flannel shirt, the buttons shooting off in all directions. He flipped out his knife and cut his brother's tee shirt from collar to bottom hem, then laid him back down and loosened Dean's belt. Check.

Three, start CPR if necessary. He almost shouted "Yes!" when he saw Dean's chest rise when he breathed into him the second time. He kept up the compressions and breaths until Dean's head rolled a little and he could hear his breath wheezing in and out. Thank god, check.

"Dean, Dean, hey man, time to go. Open your eyes and tell me how you are. Come on man, open your eyes, wake up, Dean." He watched the color start coming back into Dean's face, and his breathing seemed easier. Bruises were coming up across his midsection. He pulled Dean's head and chest into his lap, lifting first his left arm, then his right arm up for inspection. Dean's arms were covered in tiny scratches and the cuts were bites, blood still oozing from the worst of them. His jeans were full of holes, probably where the damn things had been able to worry the fabric open. Shit. Sam should have told Dean to run the minute he started to sneeze.

He opened a pack of alcohol wipes and started cleaning Dean's arms, talking quietly, saying anything that came to mind, just so his brother could hear him. "Come on, Dean, open your eyes. Time to wake up, bro, it's time to get out of here." He worked the khakis out of Dean's hand by the simple expedient of prying each finger loose in turn. When he got to the right hand, Sam tugged it toward him and starting loosening the fingers as he had with the left. He was finally able to expose the palm.

Dean sat up with a shout, coughing, and jerked his arm back so hard he almost bounced off Sam's lap, hissing air through his teeth.

"Don' touch, don' touch. Leave it 'lone." Dean's mouth was set, his nostrils flared, and his brows were trying to meet over his nose.

"What is it, what happened to your hand?" When Dean didn't answer, Sam got the pen light from the first aid kit and checked his pupils, dodging Dean's attempts to knock him away. "Has to be done, Dean, I have to find out what's wrong. What happened?"

"Happened?" It came out like a croak. "Ao Ao's happened. I was practically wearing them." He pulled in a noisy breath. "Then the pecker head showed up and did the magic whatsit on me but I stopped him." Dean reached out with his right hand, and then pulled it back, hissing in pain. He looked at Sam and whispered out, "I did stop him, right? You're OK? They didn't bite you or anything?"

Sam blew out a sigh. "I'm fine. You stopped him and the ritual … killed him just like the Ao Ao. How are you feeling?"

"Fine, feel fine. Help me get up."

Sam got him to his feet, then helped him sit back down when he staggered a little bit. "You probably need a little more oxygen in you."

He had to think. Dean should already be on his way to the ER for a check up. He pulled out his cell phone, no reception, then had Dean check his phone. No reception. The car was at least two miles away and the pen would last twenty minutes. Which would be enough if the symptoms didn't come back. Normally they didn't - but this was Dean. So the plan was simple enough - walk to the car, drive Dean to the ER, pry Dean out of the car by brute force, and turn him over to the medical staff. Easy.

He checked his watch, figuring. It had been maybe ten minutes since the injection. Dean was breathing better but still loudly. He had fifteen minutes, maybe twenty, before it got really bad again if it was going to, and he could inject Dean at least one more time if he needed to. First thing - start walking. Second, watch for signs of shock and allergic symptoms. Third, keep his brother alive, in the forest, with anaphylactic shock. And all this time, he thought Stanford was a challenge.

"We need to get moving, Dean. Where are your boots?"

Dean looked up and at him and pointed behind him. "Stuck to the ground. Near the opening pretty sure." He winced and his hand jerked. "Gun, too. Watch it – it was hot."

Sam turned his head and spotted Dean's boots a few yards away, standing neatly side by side. The Colt was just few feet past them near Dean's duffel. He almost dropped the gun when he saw bits of burned skin still attached to the grip. He rubbed those off against the pine needles and grass beneath him and tucked the gun in Dean's duffel. Grabbing the boots and the duffel, he took the few steps back to his brother and knelt next to him. The boots were still tied tight. As he untied them, and slid them over Dean's socks, he looked at him again. "How did you get these off without untying them?"

"I just came out of them."

He put his left hand out to Sam, and Sam hoisted him to his feet. He pulled Dean's flannel shirt closed, pinning it with a safety pin from the kit. Without warning, he pulled Dean's right hand out and up, and poured cool bottled water over Dean's hand. He steadied Dean when he closed his eyes and swayed. "I've got to get something on this. This is a burn from the gun isn't it?"

Dean leaned his head back and nodded, breathing air in through his stuffed nose. "Yeah", he gritted out. "Hate freaking magic."

Sam gently dabbed burn cream on the hand, then wrapped it loosely in gauze before letting Dean pull it back to his chest tightly. He put both duffels over his shoulder before Dean could protest, then took his brother by the biceps, turned him, and started to walk them both toward the car.

Dean corrected their direction automatically and moved to the front. "Follow the river. There's a trail there. We'll come out just east of the car."

Sam watched Dean carefully as they walked. Dean didn't initiate conversation, but he seemed alert and replied when Sam spoke to him. He wasn't walking fast but he hummed and tapped his hand against his leg in tempo. He even let Sam walk next to him where the trail permitted. Dean's breathing was rough, and steadily getting louder, but they had walked for a good fifteen minutes before Dean stumbled, then bent over, hands braced on his knees, straining to heave in air. Sam shot out an arm out to steady him.

Dean shrugged off his hand and started forward again, muttering, "I'm fine, not far, be there in a minute."

"Let's rest for a minute, Dean. I need to check you over." He had to step in front of Dean to stop him.

Dean focused on Sam's face, and he smiled broadly. "Hey, Sam. What'cha doing? I was…" he glanced around, "'jus' coming back from … did we leave the bar? Should be around here somewhere."

Not so alert then. "Sure, Dean, it's just around the corner. How do you feel?"

Dean looked down at his chest. "Tee shirt's too tight." He pulled the flannel away and looked underneath it. "'K, chest's tight. You know that Heather chick there? She was hot."

"She was, was she? You'll have to introduce us." Dean was pale, and Sam could feel how hot he was. He led Dean to a stump and pushed him down. "What was she like?"

He shrugged off the duffels and knelt on the ground next to them. He opened Dean's duffel and began to root around for the epi-pen that Dean carried. Another shot, car, ER, still good. He glanced up when Dean pulled a noisy wheezing breath – he was staring intently in the direction of the river.

"Dean? What are you looking at, man?" He tapped Dean's thigh to get his attention. When Dean swiveled his head around to look at Sam, he tried again. "Tell me about Heather. What kind of music does she like? Does she play pool?"

"She likes rock and roll, course, kept picking the best songs on the jukebox." Dean leaned forward, putting his hands on his knees, and pulled another noisy breath in through his mouth.

"What about pool?" Sam finally upended the duffel and repacked it, inspecting each item before placing it back. He unzipped and searched the outer pockets in turn, finding M&M wrappers and spent cartridge casings.

"Nah, not pool. Too classy for that. She's a nurse." Dean wheezed in a breath, whistling as he breathed out. "Man, did you hear that? Here, I'll do it again." He performed another wheeze whistle to his evident satisfaction. "Heather could tell me all about that, couldn't she Sam? I bet she'd like to get me in for some _hands on_ nursing care." He grinned and waggled his brows. He tried for the whistle for a third time and ended up coughing.

"What did you talk about tonight?" Sam upended his duffel and rechecked the first aid kit.

"Sam, um, I don't feel good." He struggled to his feet and almost pitched forward before Sam caught him. "I don't even remember drinking anything."

Sam held him through the nausea, then helped him to sit on the ground. leaning back against the stump. "It's just a reaction to the adrenaline, Dean, you'll be fine in a minute."

He repacked the duffels and turned back to Dean, having to shake him a little to get his attention. "Dean, do you remember where your epi-pen is? I need to find it right now." He listened to Dean's breathing again. "You've got to slow down your breathing."

"Hurts like a bitch, too."

"Do you remember what you did with your epi-pen, Dean? It's not in the duffel. You didn't leave it in the car and bring M&Ms or something, did you?" He saw Dean's expression change from almost comical concentration to wide-eyed realization.

Dean's head came up and he smiled. "The rougarou near Mobile, um, last month, remember? Chacalochee Bay. The crocodile guy. The silver rounds weren't penetrating." Every few words were punctuated by a wheezing breath.

Sam frowned. He didn't remember that hunt fondly. It took him an hour of near panic to find Dean, trudging back after he'd disappeared riding the damn were-crocodile like he was Steve Irwin with a mid-western accent. "Yeah, I remember. We figured to try to inject it. I didn't know you used the epi-pen."

Dean was frowned a little as he sucked in air. "Needed the auto-injection system. Took it apart, got the longer needle, you found that colloidal silver. Blessed it, had silver suspended in holy water. Supercharged the auto-injection. Man, it was awesome. Noise was so loud I thought for a minute he died of a heart attack. It took that sucker down flat." Dean blinked at him. "Forgot to put a new one in. Sorry."

"Ok, well, um, no worries then. Here, take these." He held out two more of the antihistamines Dean had taken earlier. It took Dean a couple of tries to swallow them. Sam was sure his lips were starting to turn blue. "Second, I need you to sit here for just a minute. And I mean sit here, don't try to stand or come after me. I'll be right back."

"OK, Sam. I'm sitting." He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "Sitting and breathing slowly." Dean looked up at him, "Sitting and not so much breathing."

Sam grabbed his duffel with the Ao Ao paraphernalia and bolted down the path, watching the riverside. He thought he could hear Dean's strained wheeze long after he couldn't see him.

* * *

A/N: Sam was speaking Guaraní, the people in whose mythology I found the Ao Ao. It's a very rough translation but should mean something like 'Leave us, monster, and die'.


	3. Kerosene and matches always did the tric

True to his word, Sam was back in less than ten minutes to collect his brother. Dean had leaned forward to rest his head on the weapons duffel.

"Dean, hey. Dean, time to go." He looked down at his brother's face. Dean's eyes were open but didn't look focused. "Can you hear me in there? I've got reservations at Club Med. Let's go." He bent down and took Dean's arm. "Up on three."

Dean nodded and gasped out "'K, Sam. Three."

Sam steadied Dean while he got the remaining duffel over his shoulder. Wrapping an arm around his brother to catch a belt loop on his jeans, he began to half lead and half carry Dean the fifty yards to a campsite he'd found by the river. Finding it had actually been the easy part, it was right off the path and complete with a stone fire ring set in the sand. He'd seen one other as they'd walked but it was insanely good luck to find this one so close.

The hard part was building the fire - and not because it needed any Boy Scout skills to start. Kerosene and matches always did the trick. It was finding enough wood to get it started and last until he could collect his brother. He'd dragged out the equipment from their Ao Ao hunt, but only took the time to fill some stone and metal bowls with water and set them as close to the fire as he could before haring back to Dean.

Dean looked at Sam. "I hate those pills. Tol' you they made me feel funny." He stumbled over a root and wheezed in air. "Tol' you you'd have to carry me outa here, too."

"You were right. You can feel as funny as you want in just a minute. We need to walk a few more steps."

"Club Med?" Dean snorted a little and coughed. "I hate camping, Sam."

"Me too, Dean. Me too."

He led and finally carried Dean to the clearing and helped him sit down and lean against a boulder near the fire. Sam winced a little as he dumped the weapons duffle - again - but he was able to slide the now empty canvas bag between his brother's back and the rock. He'd be cleaning guns for months. He took a few minutes to build up the fire.

He unpacked the left over ritual ingredients and considered them carefully. He didn't know the medical uses of all of the ingredients, but he did know some properties of all of them. He dug out a camping mug, one of the collapsible ones, and filled it from a bowl of boiling water. The epi-pen was mostly adrenaline. Stimulants might not be great but were worth trying. He added chocolate, a handful of sugar, and some cinnamon to the mug, stirring it with his knife until the chocolate melted. He was going to count that as a check.

He sorted through the remaining envelopes and bags and from them extracted a twist of white paper. He held it between two fingers, considering. He'd wanted to dump this in the cave. He'd never planned to walk anywhere with it. Having it on him now was making his flesh creep. But if it helped Dean, and he thought it might, he was glad he'd taken the risk. He tucked the paper in his pocket.

He pulled off his top shirt and used it to protect his hands as he carried the cup to Dean. He slid in behind his brother, pulling him back to lean against him, and tossed the empty duffel on Dean's lap. When he could take a sip of the chocolate, he held it for Dean.

"Here you go, Dean, hot chocolate. Take a sip."

Dean opened his eyes, and shook his head.

"Come on, Dean, the heat will be good for your chest."

Dean coughed and he reached for the cup.

"No, no, it's hot, I'll hold it for you." As soon he'd gotten a few sips into Dean, he put the cup down, and wriggled a hand into his pocket for the white packet. He carefully unfolded it and stared at the dab of white powder inside. He pulled Dean's head around until he could see his face. He barely moistened his fingertip in the chocolate, dipped it in the white powder, and pulled down on his brother's chin.

"Open up, Dean, open up. I've got something for you." He pulled again at Dean's jaw.

Dean finally opened his mouth and whistled out, "What the hell are you doing?"

Before he could close his mouth, Sam worked his finger into and around Dean's mouth, and rubbed the cocaine onto Dean's gums.

Dean jerked his head away, slurring out with a wheezy breath, "Dude, gross."

Sam held him tight with his left arm and dipped into the powder again. "Open up, Dean, another one. Come on, big brother." He was able to pull open Dean's mouth with his left hand and rubbed another minute amount onto Dean's gums with his right.

"Sto' the flossing, man. Stop …" He looked up at Sam and licked his lips. "Novocain? You didn' tell me we were gon' to the dentist." He yawned. "Man, I'm tired."

"That's right – just a check up." Sam held up the cup and alternated Dean between sips of the chocolate and tiny amounts of cocaine. Dean's breathing was still loud, but it did seem better. At least nothing he'd done had made it worse. Sam leaned back and heaved a sigh of relief. He'd take that as another check.

"Hang on, Dean. The sauna is next. I'll be right back."

"No problemo. That's a big fire, Sammy. You goin' to cook something? You caught one of those peck things, a peccary?" Dean started to pull in air past his teeth, making clucking sounds with his tongue. "Now my mouth feels funny." His fingers twitched.

"Just the dentist, Dean. Why don't you close your eyes and relax while he works?" Sam angled Dean forward and slid out from behind him.

He used a branch to drag the largest bowl away from the fire, slopping boiling water on to the sand, then tossed the branch and several others into the fire. He made quick work of the rest of the ritual ingredients, tossing some like the illegal coca leaves right into the fire, but sorted out and threw coffee beans, tobacco, sage, dried chilies, cilantro … impatient, he finally just dumped everything into the bowl except what he needed to make more hot chocolate. He upended his duffel next, and used that to carry the steaming bowl over to Dean, then bounded over to snag the fresh cup of hot chocolate in his shirt and carried that back to his brother's side.

He slid in behind Dean, this time almost pulling him into his lap. He folded the second empty duffle and set it on top of the one already in Dean's lap, before he gingerly used his shirt to lift the bowl of aromatics onto them. "Tell me if this gets too hot."

Dean gave it a sideways glance. "I don't have to drink _that_, do I?"

"No, all you have to do with this is breathe it."

When the bowl seemed stable, he pushed Dean forward until his chest rested on Sam's supporting arm, and then pushed Dean's head forward. He draped his shirt over Dean and the bowl. Dean jerked a little and he heard a muffled noise from his brother. He lifted an edge of the shirt. He was pretty sure Dean was trying to glare at him.

"It will keep the help with the steam." He dropped the shirt. "Just relax and breathe. And keep your head down", he said, pushing Dean's head forward again. "Just breathe, Dean, slow and steady. The steam is good for you, like a sauna. Just relax and breathe, slow and steady."

He leaned back, his left hand supporting Dean's chest, right hand rubbing circles on Dean's back. After a few minutes, Sam relaxed and started to sip the cup of chocolate. He checked his watch and decided to give Dean fifteen minutes. Nine minutes later, he felt Dean sag against his arm. He peeked under the shirt. Dean had fallen asleep. He gave him fifteen minutes more, and then checked under the shirt again. The wheezing was much better.

He lifted the bowl and heated canvas off Dean's lap, setting them carefully to one side. He pulled Dean back slightly. "Dean? Tell me how your chest is feeling. Your breathing sounds better." He waited then tried again. "Dean, talk to me. How is your chest?"

He craned his head around to try to see his brother's face. Dean's eyes were only half open, the fire's reflection flickering in his eyes. "Hey, Dean, hey. How are you feeling?" Sam tugged him upright.

Dean moved his shoulders back, and lifted his head. "Good." Dean sagged again, this time back against his brother's chest, his head resting on Sam's shoulder. Sam draped his own shirt over them both. Dean curled a little more against him, unconsciously rubbing his cheek against Sam's tee shirt, before tucking his head into the hollow between Sam's neck and shoulder. He breathed noisily, and said something incomprehensible, before drifting back to sleep.

Sam smiled, and said quietly, "I hope you didn't just call me Dad. Or Mom." He thought for a minute. "But if you just called me Heather, you are dead meat, dude. Dead freaking meat."

He spent the next two hours maintaining Dean's tenuous ability to breathe. He used up the cocaine quickly, and it was with a great sense of relief that he threw the empty bit of paper into the fire. Some of the ingredients they used in their line of work were bizarre, but he was sure this was the first time he'd ever had to procure something for a ritual that would get him into more trouble than concealed weapons and grave desecration.

Dean was lucid some of the time, complaining about the heat, and sometimes back at his imaginary bar, but still wheezing in air. He seemed content to lean back and sleep when Sam was sitting behind him.

Sam was growing increasingly anxious. He looked out over the river again and watched the path in the woods. Redwood National Park was usually busy all year round with campers and hikers on land, and boaters traveling up and down the Klamath River. Both he and Dean had thought they were lucky today when they didn't run into someone. Now he'd give anything to be hip deep in campers if just one of them came equipped with a satellite phone.

Sam burned off nervous energy when he could, walking around and building up the fire, stretching, packing up the duffels, and compulsively checking for reception on his cell. He decided to hide the weapons bag, and shoved it down behind the boulder, pushing it ruthlessly between two rocks, before throwing a few smaller rocks and some branches over it.

Dean had started to move more and more as the time dragged by, his head rolling, fingers and hands jerking, and sometimes his feet and legs would spasm briefly. He didn't seem to notice when he was awake, but Sam chewed his cuticles and worried.

He rubbed his temples and pinched the bridge of his nose. He had no idea what that was a reaction to – probably shock, or the fever he was running, or drug interactions ... the cocaine had been a risk, but he remembered what he'd learned in his Psych class unit on addiction. The chemical effect had helped, he was sure of it. Dean _was_ still breathing. Still, every time Dean jerked or coughed or it seemed his wheezing was getting louder, Sam's stress level would rise exponentially.

He wondered again if he hadn't made a huge mistake by not heading for the car instead of bringing Dean here. Maybe he should have thrown Dean over his shoulder and carried him the mile and a half to the car … or he could have left Dean tucked safely somewhere and sprinted to the car ... but then he would have had to find help and wait for the EMTs and return on foot … shit. Dean had been turning blue. He was sure if he'd gone to the car, alone, or with his brother, Dean would have died before he could have gotten help. At least this way, he thought he'd given his brother a chance. He sighed loudly and rubbed his face when Dean's left leg started to jiggle.

He heard voices just as the afternoon was turning into dusk. He swiveled his head, trying to pinpoint the sound on the trail, then back to look out over the lake. He thought he could see a couple of canoes or kayaks moving south. He set Dean down so abruptly he startled him awake.

"Sam?" He was whistling clearly again. Wheezing as he struggled to bring in air. "Why's m'shirt wet?"

"I'm right here. I'm going to be making some noise, dude, so just chill."

He pulled a branch out of the fire and ran to the shoreline, waving the burning branch like a torch over his head.

"Hello, can you hear me?" He waited a couple of seconds, then shouted again. "I need help! We need a hospital!" This time he heard several voices calling back and could see the canoes start to angle toward him.

He tossed the torch back on the fire and stepped back to the water. He cupped his hands around his mouth. "Do any of you have an epi-pen or a phone, a satellite phone? Can you call 911? Tell them anaphylactic shock!"

He stepped into the water as the canoes started to arrive, and helped bring them ashore. He looked at each person as they climbed out, saying to the group again, "Satellite phone? That or an epi-pen, but I need one or the other."

A guy around his age stepped up and pointed at someone still sitting in one of the canoes. "He's calling right now. They can GPS the phone and bring help via the river. It'll be quicker than land." He glanced toward Dean. "None of us have an epi-pen, I'm sorry. You said anaphylactic shock?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, my brother." He took a breath. "I'm Sam, my brother's Dean. Thanks for stopping and helping." He pointed back at the fire. "All I have is hot water but you're welcome to it."

A slight woman, girl really, stepped up with a pack. "I've got chai and some oatmeal I think", she said pawing through her bag. "I've got the best trail mix, too. Would you like some?"

"Uh, no, but tea would be great." He sat back down next to Dean and pulled him back against his chest. His breathing was louder in just those few minutes.

The girl handed him a cup of tea, a sweatshirt, and a blanket. "It's going to get cold really quick. Put one on you and one on him." She looked at him shyly. "I'm sure rescue will be here in just a minute. Would you like me to pack up your bowls over there? That way you can stay here with him and then just jump on the boat."

He nodded again, suddenly exhausted, words as hard to find as a smile. He leaned his head back and watched the strangers through lidded eyes, standing by the fire, talking, and occasionally casting looks at him and Dean. He tightened his grip on Dean reflexively, making him gasp and cough. He relaxed his arm and pulled Dean's head around to look at his face.

Dean's right arm jerked, bouncing his hand against his leg, eliciting a wheezing hiss, and he cracked his eyes.

"Wha's gon' on, Sam?"

"We've got a bit of a rescue going on, Dean. I'm going to get you to a hospital."

Dean screwed his eyes up. "I'm fine. Just need another antihistamine or something."

Sam huffed a laugh. "Hospital, Dean, a nice hospital with oxygen and fluids and epinephrine. You'll love it." Dean started to protest, but Sam said, "Suck it up. I'm calling the shots. You're the girl who keeps falling asleep on my shoulder."

An older man, probably in his mid thirties, approached and sat down near them. He held up the phone. "I'm Dave. I talked to search and rescue. Told them about the epi-pen. They've got an EMT team dispatched. We should hear them in another few minutes." He looked at Dean. "Is there anything we can do? Do you want to lay him down?"

Sam shook his head. "No it's … sitting" he had to clear his throat and drank some tea. "Easier for him to breathe." He looked at the guy. "Will they let me go in the boat with him?"

"I'm sorry, but I don't know." He glanced at Sam's cup. "More tea?"

He shook his head. "How much longer?"

Dave smiled and said, "I'll see what I can find out." He stepped away with the phone to his ear.


	4. Enjoy the good stuff while it lasts

Sam jerked awake when Dave shouted. He could hear a boat approaching. He was so relieved he felt light headed. A team splashed ashore in seconds, and one of them sprinted ahead, pointing at Dean.

"That him?"

Almost before he could nod, the EMT pulled back the blanket and had slammed an epi-pen into Dean's thigh making Dean sit up and curse. The rest of the team, a burley guy and a woman, ran up with a stretcher and bags of equipment.

The first one in introduced himself as Mike. "Let me have him."

Sam reluctantly let go. Dean was on the stretcher with an oxygen mask in place and an IV in his hand before Mike had finished listening to his chest. He watched as a BP cuff and a blanket were put on his brother, and watched as Dean started to struggle when they began strapping him to the the stretcher.

Mike looked over at Sam. "What about his hand?"

"Burned while he was cooking. Look, can you not strap him down so tightly?"

Mike put a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Have to. Gotta carry him, put him on a boat, and his muscle spasms could get worse and put him in the drink." He took Dean's temperature and called it out to his partners. "One oh two point three. Heartbeat erratic, pulse fifty-three, BP … ninety five over sixty." He started to ask Sam rapid fire questions, which Sam answered as quickly.

"What are all these scratches and … bites?"

"I'm not sure – he fell and got those."

"When was the last time he experienced anaphylactic shock?"

"December, no January 2004. I'm pretty sure."

"Was it to the same thing? Did he eat something? What's he allergic to?"

"No, no. A different animal. So far, its things with fur. And penicillin. Today it was a bear's den – got too much for him."

"Has he already had a shot?"

"Yeah – almost four hours ago. We only had one. Should have been enough but the symptoms came back before we could get to the car or get a call through."

"_How_ long ago?" Mike stared at him, and then said over his shoulder, "We'd better be ready to intubate." He peeled back Dean's eyelids and flipped a pen light over his eyes.

Dean growled, "Gerroff me." He rolled his head, flexing his arms and legs. The mask made it hard to make out what Dean was saying, but it was perfectly clear when Dean thrashed again and yelled, "Sam!"

Sam was next to him in an instant, putting a hand on his chest. "Dean, you're alright. Relax. You've had a shot. You're going to the hospital. In a speed boat. You hear me? A speed boat. You need to be still for the ride." Dean was muttering under the mask. "What?" He lifted the mask.

"Tell Jill no chopper. I mean it. You stop her this time."

Sam set the mask back in place and smiled fondly at his brother. "You got it, Dean. I promise. Just enjoy the ride."

The EMT pulled Sam to one side. "We need to start him on steroids and antihistamines. What else has he had today?" Sam handed him the blister pack of benedryl. "He had four of these, about an hour apart, the last two about two, maybe three hours ago."

"That would help explain why he's so lethargic but there's something else going on with him. His blood pressure should have bottomed out by now. His pupils are dilated and that could be the shock ... did he have _anything_ else?"

Sam had been watching one of the other EMTs re-bandage Dean's hand, but that brought his head back. "I gave him some hot chocolate. He also been breathing steam – the water had aromatic herbs in it." He straightened his back, and took a deep breath. "And I gave him cocaine. Not much, I only had about as much as this," he demonstrated the amount on the tip of his little finger. "I don't know how much it was. I put it on his gums a little bit at a time until it was gone, about an hour and a half ago."

Mike nodded. "Do you have any cocaine on your person now?"

"No, no, and Dean never had any. A friend gave it to me. I was going to throw it away …" he looked over at Dean then back at Mike.

"Good then." He smiled for the first time. He raised his voice to his partners. "Start the hydrocortisone, hold the benedryl, and let's roll." Sam dodged after him to the boat.

"I need to come with him."

The burley guy grinned and said, "No problem. We'll have to strap you to the seat though." He pointed at the woman carrying bags toward the boat. "She drives like a demon."

Sam watched as they locked Dean's stretcher into place and pulled a protective transparent shell over his head and shoulders.

"Mike, why did you say you were going to prepare to intubate? He's already better and he's with you. He won't get worse, will he?"

"Probably not, but rebounds happen. You did the best you could, and man, you did really well because he's alive and breathing, but he's got a lot of stuff in him, and way too much benadryl. I'd like to let the doc at the hospital make the decision about adding anything else to the cocktail. And they'll probably ventilate him there even if just to reduce stress. If there's an emergency and his throat closes up while we're in transit, we might not be able to get a tube in him. If that happens, we'll have to trach him. But in a moving boat - let's hope I don't have to do either."

Sam could feel his eyes getting wider and he started to feel nauseous.

Mike grabbed his arm and said, "Are you OK? Why don't you sit down before you fall down?" He gave Sam a hand into the boat and into a seat and started attaching a harness around him. Mike tugged on the straps. "Don't mess with this – she really does drive like a maniac. We'll leave as soon as she finishes calling in. We'll meet the ambulance at the dock in about fifteen minutes, the hospital is another ten minutes from there. I'll be right next to your brother the whole way. We got him. Try to relax."

The chai girl from the canoeing party ran up, splashing to the boat to hand him his duffel and the shirts he'd left on the beach. He couldn't move to get the sweatshirt off. "How can I get this back to you?"

"Don't worry. I'll visit you in the hospital."

"Please tell everyone we said thanks." There was no time to say more as the boat roared to life. He hung on to the seat and his stomach as the boat reared up on it's stern, and accelerated at a heart stopping speed. Emergency lights lanced out into the darkness around the boat, adding eerie reflections across the water. The boat began slapping against the water, the impact so strong he thought he could feel his teeth coming loose. Ice cold water sprayed into his face, and his hair was streaming straight out behind him.

He could make out lights on the sides of the river, he even caught sight of a campfire, and above them was the Milky Way burning a swath across the sky. He glanced over at Dean and Mike, hair whipping into his eyes. Mike grinned and gave him a thumbs up.

The relief, the boat - it was incredible. He wanted to put his arms up and scream at the top of his lungs, like he was on the best ride at the amusement park. Before he realized it, he was grinning and laughing out loud.

* * *

"So, I can't leave until when?" Dean rubbed his throat.

"Tomorrow afternoon, and then another day at the motel before we leave town." Sam looked at him earnestly. He had to admit the kid always did earnest well.

"Sam, I'm fine …"

Sam stepped to the side of the bed. "Yeah, right."

Dean looked up at him, and opened his mouth, "What, fine? I am fi…"

"You said that in the woods. You said that at the campsite. Now you're saying it when they just took you off the ventilator. You were on it all night, Dean!"

He rolled his eyes. "How could I forget? I woke up with it down my throat and you hovering over me." He cleared his throat, and coughed. He glowered at his brother. "And you promised you wouldn't let them ventilate me. So much for that."

"I promised you I wouldn't let Jill put you on a chopper. You didn't say anything about a ventilator." Sam crossed his arms and seethed right back at him.

"I didn't? Oh." He looked toward the window. "I wish I had, then. It feels like they rubbed my throat with sandpaper."

Sam immediately looked contrite. "Do you want some ice chips?" He held out a cup.

"No, damn it, what I want is a cup of coffee." He grudgingly took the cup from Sam in his left hand. He held up his right hand and picked at the bandaging. "And this hurts like a bitch."

"The doctor said he would help with the pain once you were awake and not in respiratory distress. He'll be here in a few minutes. Rounds are around now."

"You know his schedule? You started medical school without telling me?"

"Quiet." He glared at Dean. "Don't interrupt. Eat your ice chips. With all the drugs they used to save your life – steroids, antihistamines, fluids, epinephrine, vasopressors … antibiotics for the infected bites, shock, treatment for your fever, the burn on your hand …"

Dean watched fascinated. Sam practically had steam coming out of his ears, waving his hands around and pointing at all the bad places on Dean's body. He wasn't done though.

"… What with all of that, the doctor never once said being pissy was one of the side effects you would experience when you woke up." He took a breath and looked a little shocked.

Dean tried not to smile. "What's a vasopressor?"

That brought Sam up short. He looked at Dean and then down at his hands. "I don't know." He brought his head back up, smiling now, one dimple showing.

"Well, I'm sure it was important. I'm sorry I scared you, Sam. Hell, I scared myself in there too. I'll stay put until tomorrow. I'm not going to be much good in a hunt with a bad right hand anyway."

"Don't lie, I've seen you shoot with your left hand."

He sighed and glanced up at Sam. "OK, maybe I can't drive with only one hand or eat with one hand. Give me an out here." He smiled and tapped Sam's arm. "I'll stay put because you want me to. And the insurance holds out." He rubbed his eyes. "When's the doc going to get here again? My chest is killing me."

Sam hit the call button and told the nurse that called back that his brother needed something for pain. He pulled his chair closer to the bed.

Dean identified the look on Sam's face – anxious, with just a dash of embarrassment.

Sam said, "As soon as the doctor finishes, I need to leave. I'll be gone about three or four hours … since you're up, I figure I can take the time safely."

"Sure, Sam. I won't melt while you're gone."

Sam huffed out a laugh. "Yeah, I know but I'm still going to worry until I'm back … but you'll be fine, and you can always call me, right, and I've got a ride to the Impala … and I'll be back, like I said, in a couple of hours."

"I didn't know we were that far away. OK, but don't put a scratch on her." Sam still looked worried. "What?"

"We aren't that far away, really, but I've got to collect the weapons bag."

Dean thought that sounded ominous but he asked with a false calm. "Why do you have to collect it?"

"I left it back at the campsite. I just have to walk up there and back."

"You … left the weapons bag? Anyone could find it … crap, my Colt's in it, isn't it?" He shook his head and chewed some ice. "I bet your Taurus is snugged up safe but my gun, my _favorite_ gun, is out there all alone …" He knew it was going to hurt, but he finally had to laugh out loud at Sam's expression. He gasped and held his ribs. "Sam, come on. I've had to toss that bag on top of buildings, under cars, in sheds, doghouses, hell, it's gone into a dumpster more than once."

Sam laughed, but he was clearly still anxious about something.

"What is the matter with you?" Before he could push Sam for an answer, they both heard a sound at the door and a doctor came in.

Sam stood and shook the man's hand. "Dean, this is Dr Adams. He's been treating you since we arrived."

Dean nodded to the doctor who stepped forward to the bed. "I understand you're in some pain. Understandable considering the strain you've been under and your burn. Let me check a few things and then we'll fix you up." He called in a nurse who took his temperature, blood pressure, and pulse while the doctor poked and prodded, listened to Dean's breathing, checked his eyes, and conferred with the nurse briefly. She left the room.

"I've got you on IV fluids and Clindamycin for the bites, but we've stopped everything else. Your stats are good, heart rate normal and steady, and your temperature is holding at about one hundred. And we are twenty four hours out from your last episode." The nurse came in with a syringe which she injected into Dean's IV. "All very good signs. An anaphylactic rebound is highly unlikely, but considering your time on the ventilator, the burn, the bites and scratches, and the unorthodox methods your brother used to keep you alive … I want you to stay another day to give my colleagues a chance to see you, if nothing else." He smiled broadly.

Dean said, "Unorthodox?" He blinked a few times. "What was unorthodox?" He looked at Sam who looked down at his hands. "Sam, do we have something to talk about?"

"Let Sam tell you later. It's a great story. Right now, I want you to relax. I just gave you a mild sedative and pain killer. I wanted that on board before Dr. Ropert comes in to work on that hand." He smiled at Dean. "Once we check you out of here, you're back to Tylenol or Advil, but until then, we can give you the good stuff." He made a few notations in the Dean's chart. "I'll see you later today." He turned to Sam. "Alison's waiting in the hall. I think you're safe to go."

Dean was starting to lose track of the conversation but one thing stood out. "Alison?"

Sam didn't look at him, instead he said to the doctor, "No, I'll stay with him while they treat his hand."

"Sam, you really don't want to do that." Adams waved a hand in Dean's direction. "Even with the shot, it's going to be extremely painful for him. And we'd make you leave the room anyway."

"Riiiight … here. Pretty sure." Dean rubbed his face and opened his eyes wider. "Who's Alison?"

Adams laughed. "My daughter. She met Sam at your camp. They're going out today for lunch." Adams clapped Sam on the shoulder before walking out.

He rolled his head toward Sam and grinned. "A date for lunch? And you've already impressed the parents. Good job, Sam. Is she hot?"

Sam flushed a bright right. "She's _nice_, Dean. That means a lot … to me at least. And it's not really a date."

"So, not hot." He yawned. "Go get tofutti or whatever it is you healthy people eat. Sprouts and um, sprouts. I'm going to …" He yawned again. "Enjoy the good stuff while it lasts."

Sam took a step toward the door and then looked back at the bed.

Even drugged, Dean knew that look. "Get out of here. I don't want you here if I cry." He suddenly remembered something. "Sam, wait, just a minute."

Sam almost ran back to the bed. "What is it?"

"Find out if she knows Heather, OK?"

Sam smiled and laughed. "You bet. We'll go back to that bar when you're out of here."

Dean closed his eyes and said, "Super. Great jukebox."

* * *

A/N: Please be assured that I would never suggest or condone the use of an illicit drug. The drug is a dopamine re-uptake inhibitor which acts upon the body in a like manner to adrenaline. In the fantasy world in my head, that, and lots of antihistamines, made this plausible.

A/N 2: Heather's request was this: _I would love to see a continuation from Canaveral. Since each exposure causes more intense allergic reactions I would love to see anaphylactic Dean. Perhaps a hunt in the woods where it will take some time to get to medical help...the epi-pen will slow down the severity of the attack but generally for only 10-20 minutes. Sam of course has an epi-pen but Dean removed his to make room for peanut m&ms. _

I admit I made one teensy little change by replacing the M&Ms with a big guy with scales. What? That's tiny! Ahem. But other than that, Heather, I hope I've hit the mark.

Phoebe


End file.
